The FReeper Foxhole Revisits The Battle of Antietam (Sharpsburg)(9/17/1862) Part I - Sep. 17th, 2004

http://www.texasrifles.com ^ | July 30, 1995 | Peter Carlson

[snippy_about_it]

Lord,

Keep our Troops forever in Your care

Give them victory over the enemy...

Grant them a safe and swift return...

Bless those who mourn the lost.
.

FReepers from the Foxhole join in prayer
for all those serving their country at this time.


...................................................................................... ...........................................

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The FReeper Foxhole Revisits

'And the Slain Lay in Rows'

There's not much there. It's just a field, really. But people come every day, sometimes from far away, to stand and look.

They park their cars on a road that rises and dips with the rolling hills. They step out and glance around. They bow their heads to read the sign and then straighten up to stare out at the field. There's a split-rail fence and, in the distance, some farm buildings -- a white silo, a fading barn. In between there's hay -- 30 acres of tall green stalks of grass topped with tiny seeds. When the breeze picks up, the stalks begin to quiver, then shake, then sway back and forth like sea grasses caught in gentle waves.

It's beautiful to watch, hypnotic and mesmerizing, but that's not why the people stand there for so long. They're staring at the grass but they're seeing something else, something that hasn't been there for 133 years. They seldom speak. When they do, it's usually in a hush, nothing loud enough to drown out the drone of the crickets.

This field of hay is called "the Cornfield" because that's what it was at dawn on September 17, 1862. By noon, though, the corn was gone, cut to the ground by bullets and cannon shells, and the field was covered with thousands of dead or broken men. It was the bloodiest part of the bloodiest day in this country's history -- the Battle of Antietam. Nearly 23,000 Americans were killed, wounded or missing in action outside Sharpsburg, Md., that day -- nearly four times the American casualties on D-Day. When the sun set and the battle ended, the two opposing armies were still in about the same positions they'd been the previous night. Yet something was won that day, something so profound that George F. Will once called the Battle of Antietam "the second most important day in American history." July 4, 1776, gave us the Declaration of Independence. September 17, 1862, gave us the Emancipation Proclamation.


That terrible day at Antietam, the First Texas Regiment battles for the Cornfield. Of 226 engaged, 40 returned unharmed.

Today, few Americans know much about Antietam, and even fewer visit the battlefield. More than a million and a half tourists cram into Gettysburg every year and nearly a million visit Manassas, but fewer than 240,000 venture to Antietam. Those who do find that Sharpsburg hasn't changed much since the battle. It has a few inns, a gallery of Civil War art and a tiny museum, but not a single motel or souvenir stand or fast-food joint. Except for a small stone visitors center, a cemetery and some monuments, the battlefield, too, looks about the same as it did before the shooting started. Most of the fields where soldiers fought and died are still farms where families coax crops from the ground.

Antietam is only 70 miles from Washington, but it's off the tourist track, away from the interstates, tucked into the beautiful hills of western Maryland. It's not a place you stumble upon by accident. People tend to come to Antietam in search of something -- a fallen ancestor, a glimpse of history, a place to contemplate their country. They find a field, a sunken dirt road, an old stone bridge, a tiny white church -- all of them haunted by an air of tragedy so palpable that it compels almost everyone to whisper, as if they were visiting a cathedral.


Federal Troops retreat from the Cornfield

They stand silently, gazing out at the swaying grass of the Cornfield. Ask them what they're thinking and nearly all of them repeat some variation of the same three questions:

How could they have done it?

Could we do it today?

Could I?

"The Union forces in Virginia have suffered three catastrophic defeats in 1862," says Jerry Holsworth. "They have been humiliated by General Stonewall Jackson in the Shenandoah Valley, mauled by Lee in the Seven Days Battle, and again at Manassas. They huddle around Washington, D.C., in a state of very low morale . . ."



Holsworth is a park ranger at the Antietam National Battlefield. He's standing behind the visitors center on a sweltering afternoon, delivering the standard half-hour orientation speech in his own flamboyant style. Spread out in a semicircle around him are two dozen tourists in shorts and sneakers and T-shirts. Holsworth has asked where they're from, and they've replied Colorado, Missouri, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Ohio. Holsworth is from Texas. At 44, he's working his second summer on the Antietam battlefield.

And now he's standing in his Park Service uniform -- gray shirt, green pants, Smokey Bear hat -- telling the story of the battle, enlivening it with dramatic flourishes and plenty of body English. He tells how Robert E. Lee's Confederates have driven the Union army out of Virginia and back to Washington, how Abraham Lincoln is desperate for a victory so he can issue the Emancipation Proclamation, how Lee has seized the initiative by crossing the Potomac and invading Maryland, hoping that a victory on Northern soil will bring aid from England and France.

"Lee's army is suffering, folks," Holsworth says in his Texas drawl. "Half the men are barefoot. They're in rags. They've been fightin' continuously for three or four months without a break. Many of them are livin' on green corn and creek water."


General Robert E. Lee

Still, the Rebels easily seized the city of Frederick, and Lee decided to take a dangerous gamble. Knowing that Union Gen. George McClellan was a slow, cautious man, Lee figured that he could divide his already-outnumbered army, send part of it to capture the Union garrison at Harpers Ferry, and then reunite it -- all before McClellan attacked. Lee issued Special Order 191, which detailed his plan. But one of his officers wrapped a copy of the order around three cigars and accidentally dropped it in a field near Frederick, where a Union soldier found it. It was passed up the ranks to McClellan, who instantly realized that he could destroy Lee's divided army piece by piece. He pondered this for 18 hours, then sent his army after Lee.


General George McClellan

Holsworth sweeps his hand out in a long horizontal arc, pointing out the ridge that his audience is standing on. "Lee will bring what's left of his army here to Sharpsburg Ridge with the idea of giving up the campaign and skedaddling back to Virginia," he says. He pauses dramatically. "But that night Lee would see the letter that would change his mind. Dear General Lee: Harpers Ferry will surrender in the morning. Signed T.J. Jackson, Major General, Confederate States Army.' "

The next day, as promised, Jackson captured Harpers Ferry. He left Gen. A.P. Hill and a few thousand men to handle the surrender, then marched his troops back here, to the high ground between the Potomac River and Antietam Creek. Reinforced, Lee decided to stand and fight. The Rebels, about 40,000 strong, dug in along Sharpsburg Ridge. The Federals, 80,000 of them, prepared to attack. Everyone on both sides realized that tomorrow would bring a cataclysmic battle. The sun set amid the sound of sniper fire. Rain began to fall.



"The day before the battle, the soldiers came around and said, You all better get out, there's gonna be a hell of a battle here,' " says Earl Roulette. "That was on my great-granddaddy Roulette's farm. He stayed during the battle. A lot of people took their families and went out along the river to a big cave."

Roulette had three great-granddaddies with farms on the battlefield -- a Roulette, a Snavely and a Rohrbach. He lives on a fourth farm, on the other side of town, near the spot where Lee made his headquarters. He farmed it for more than half a century before he retired -- "wheat and corn and barley and hay and cattle, pretty much the same as they did then." In 1976, he sold a big chunk of it to a company that built a development where the streets are named after Confederate generals -- Lee, Longstreet, Jackson, Hill.


Confederate dead on the Hagerstown road at the Battle of Antietam

"Everybody thinks the Civil War was forever ago," he says. "I'm only 75 and a half, and my grandfather was 12 during the battle. He hid down at Snavely's Ford. I remember my grandpappy talking about it. What I'm saying is: It's just one generation."

He's an old man with a bald head fringed by a few wisps of white hair, but he's still spry enough to hop up from his dining room table to fetch a few mementos. He comes back with an old document encased in plastic. It's a handwritten list of everything his great-grandfather William Roulette lost during the battle -- 8 hogs, 12 sheep, 3 calves, 3 barrels of flour, 155 bushels of potatoes, 220 bushels of apples . . . It goes on for page after page.


General A.P. Hill

"See, this was September," he says. "These farmers were all ready for winter. In those days, you didn't run over to A&P or Food Lion to get your stuff. If you didn't have it in the fall, you did without till spring."

William Roulette filed his list with the federal government, hoping to be compensated for his losses, but his great-grandson doubts that he ever got a nickel. "He had to prove it was taken by the Northern army," he says, "and how the hell could you prove it when both armies were fighting there?"

He points to another item on the list -- "burial ground for 700 soldiers." He smiles wryly. "Can you imagine 700 soldiers buried in your back yard?"


Confederate dead in the Sunken Lane at the Battle of Antietam

He puts down the list, rummages through a metal tray piled with battle relics he's found on his farm over the years -- bullets, belt buckles, cannonballs. He picks out a dime. It looks almost new, but the date reads 1861. "It lay out there for over a hundred years," he says. "I just found it a couple of years ago."

He digs out a pair of bullets with tooth marks in them. "You've heard the expression biting the bullet'?" he asks. "Well, here's a couple that was bit on." He figures they were bitten by soldiers fighting the pain of getting a wounded arm or leg amputated -- a common operation after the battle. "You don't go around biting bullets unless you got a pretty good reason."

He sorts through the pile and picks out a thin gold ring. He didn't find it on his farm; it was passed down from his grandpa Snavely.

"A soldier died in their house," he says. "I believe it was an officer and not just a plain soldier. Whichever side it was, soldiers from the other side were coming and they had to get rid of him, 'cause if you had an enemy soldier in your house, you were the enemy. Feelings ran a little high along about then. So anyhow, they took him and they dumped him in the creek. And before they threw him in, my grandpa Snavely took this ring off his finger."


General John Bell Hood

He holds the ring gently between his thumb and forefinger. Its circle is broken. There's a piece missing, a section cut or worn away. He raises it up to where it can catch the sunlight that streams through the window, but it's too old and tarnished to glimmer.

"This meant something to somebody," he says.

---

---

FReeper Foxhole Armed Services Links

[SAMWolf]

Lots of good politcal info on the Cicil War. Thanks.

I'm gonna have to look up more info on the Northwest Conspiracy. Not familiar with that one.

[stand watie]

MY shirt, worn each year at Sharpsburg, says:

IN LOVING MEMORY OF THE TENTH LOUISIANA INFANTRY REGIMENT,promoted to GLORY at the cornfield.

that shirt gets LOTS of comments.

free dixie,sw

[stand watie]

YEP!

SACRED to the honored memory of 10th LA Inf, gone to GLORY at the battle of the cornfield.

free dixie,sw

[stand watie]

!!!!!!!

[w_over_w]

I recognize the CBS logo but what the heck is it attached to?

The black rock!

Actually if you saw the final "Lord of the Rings" this picture becomes hilarious. Ask Samwise . . . she's probably a “Hobbit” expert and can give you a full dissertation.

Next time you fall behind on your posting, I'll just bring up the weather . . . I KNOW that will move me to the "head of the class". Kidding. ;^)

. . . and Good Morning to you Sir!

[Iris7]

Like to see the battlefields. Want a full set of topographic maps, also of approaches and exits. Very curious about tactical maneuver possibilities.

You mention "looking at the fields of fire". I was still looking every second for fields of fire until about 1975, eight years since I left the war. Tiresome, that was!

That damned war was so Napoleonic. None of that "hold them by the nose and kick them in the ass", as George Scott put it in "Patton". Just Napoleonic collisions.

Thomas Jonathan Jackson saw the possibilities of maneuver, but it was about impossible to get the men to get the job done by walking on their own two feet. They kept complaining that they were too tired, too thirsty (water supply for a marching column was criminally bad in that war), too hungry, too cold, and barefoot. So we got blood baths like Antietam - Sharpsburg.

At Gettysburg the exposed Union left was ignored. A five mile forced march by Longstreet's Corps would have forced the Northerners to attact in order to break out of near encirclement. The Southerners could have won the whole war right there, routed the Northerners, then occupied the District. Amazing.

[Old Sarge Ski]

You're looking in the wrong theater for the war of maneuver. Not surprising since the academics who have made such a big project out of it are too damn lazy to get more than a easy cab fare from the National Archives to go to where the CW was really fought. Go west. Go west. Sherman's last, and I might add, nearly bloodless, campaign covered nearly 400 miles--through the Edisto Swamps in late winter flood. If Joe Johnston hadn't been foolish enough to pull an R.E.Lee-style attack at Bentonville, the casualties would have been trifling--that is in terms of the CW's other campaigns. As it was Johnston's entire army couldn't defeat one-third of the XIV Army Corps (the Old Dependables) who dug in their heels and held on until reinforced.

And if Lee would have surrounded 'Ole Snappin' Turtle' at G'burg, what would he have done? Throw rocks. Meade was bright enough not to have surrendered his Ordnance train--and he had a large, fresh, unused Army Corps (the Sixth) to defend it. Lee had a twenty+ mile long train of wounded to try to care for and no ammunition for his artillery to speak of, low ammunition for his infantry and no rations. Not to mention the other 2 Union Armies of about 80,000 men coming in relief of the Army of the Potomac from the Department of the East and the Department of West Virginia. But you're right on one point, the war would have been over then.

[Iris7]

Have read a lot about the Flower Class convoy escorts, years ago. Nice to see a picture of Arrowhead. First image I've seen.

Those fighting ships did vital work in 1940, '41, and '42, that is for sure. So darn small, so slow. Very uncomfortable. Very serious.

[Iris7]

"Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, erstwhile Cornfed prexy was something of a hero from the previous war (Colonel of the 1st Mississippi Rifles) under General Zachary Taylor. He was never afraid to keep reminding his generals about it. He kept Braxton Bragg in command until the Army of Tennessee was routed at Missionary Ridge. He replaced Joe Johnston (the only General Sherman ever worried about) with John Bell Hood in the middle of the Atlanta Campaign (three of Hood's USMA clasmates from the class of '53 were general officers under Sherman) and wouldln't move the Cornfederacy's best general (DIck Taylor) east of the Mississippi River because he distrusted him politically (his daddy had been President of the US, and had been Davis's commander in Mexico."

Your paragraph deserves repeating. More a Bedford Forrest man than a Richard Taylor man, myself. I never have read "Destruction and Reconstruction", though.

[Iris7]

I believe you have the knowledge edge on me, sir. I look forward to our future conversations.

I think the center of gravity in the War was certainly west of the Appalachians. I do have fondness for the Army of the Potomac, though, and very much for the Iron Brigade and the Second Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry Regiment, raised right where I sit this minute.

I thought Grant's Vicksburg operation excellent. The long seemingly pointless and stupid canal building on the West bank followed by lightning fast action, with the amphibious operation being the "hold them by the nose". Lost two g-g-granduncles in that first big charge against the Vicksburg defenses.

Also a fan of the Tennessee River brown water operation, Ft. Henry and Donelson and what followed. Best Union move after the Blockade, I figure.

After Chickamauga Sherman inherited the Army of the West, the best men in the Union army, imho, for the Atlanta campaign. Davis put Hood in against them. Hood was a very good man, but totally the wrong man for the job. Davis again. What a dolt.

I really don't know what could have worked after Atlanta. Before the Chattanooga breakout possibly the Union supply line could have been broken south of Nashville, maybe in the Stones River area. Maybe. Can't see how the Confederates could "get there first with the most men."

Respects.

[Iris7]

"And if Lee would have surrounded 'Ole Snappin' Turtle' at G'burg, what would he have done? Throw rocks. Meade was bright enough not to have surrendered his Ordnance train--and he had a large, fresh, unused Army Corps (the Sixth) to defend it. Lee had a twenty+ mile long train of wounded to try to care for and no ammunition for his artillery to speak of, low ammunition for his infantry and no rations. Not to mention the other 2 Union Armies of about 80,000 men coming in relief of the Army of the Potomac from the Department of the East and the Department of West Virginia. But you're right on one point, the war would have been over then."

Read this paragraph six times. Could not agree more. Not sure as to Lee's state of supply and Union behavior if surrounded, but a Union rout could have ended the War.

[cyn]

lol, I love that cartoon even more now that we're pajamahadeen.

[cyn]

thanks, excellent posts -- I just wish there were more hours in the day to read everything.

[BunnySlippers]

Hi, Cyn. :)

[cyn]

Hi, bun :o)

lol, you are a freeper ahead of your time -- what a wonderfully suitable screen name you chose for our new era as pajamaratti!

[Samwise]

LOL!

Sauron the Evil One!

From the highest tower of Barad-dûr, Sauron kept an unceasing watch on the lands and kingdoms of Middle-earth. The "Eye of Sauron" is a reference to this unsleeping vigilance

[joanie-f]

Our house was spared any damage, but a couple of big trees just missed the house when they fell … My wife and I went out in the rain at first light and cut up a big oak tree that had fallen across our access road. We were trapped! … Isn't it amazing that we "mountain people" seem to be able to recover from a big storm without FEMA.

So glad to hear that the trees didn’t in any way damage that beautiful home of yours. And I’m sure the wood, once seasoned, will be appreciatively used in your beautiful fireplace (you know, the one held vertical by a furring strip in the photo? :)

~ joanie

P.S. Your FEMA sarcasm is well-founded, Mountain Man.

[joanie-f]

I had planned to send this via e-mail to some of you, but decided instead to post it here in response to your comment to me regarding flood damage in your area last week, John -- just in case any stray FR lurkers might be interested in a short personal description of a pretty much flood-directed weekend. :)

As I told you, my three sisters and I share a 'sisters only' getaway once a year, and our plans this year included a weekend in a cabin in the mountains upstate -- mountain biking, hiking, shooting, swimming, etc.

I took our daughter's dog, Ernie -- part lab, all outdoors-loving -- with me (our own dog is eighteen years old, and would have had difficulty keeping up with us in the woods).

The drive to the cabin generally takes me three and a half hours. After the first three hours of driving on Friday night (all of it done amid a steady, but only moderately heavy, rain), the heavens opened up, and most of the remainder of the drive was accomplished at a speed of between ten and fifteen mph, making the total travel time closer to five hours than three. The last ten miles or so consisted of dirt roads which, by the time I arrived at the cabin, were well on their way to being edged with fast-running shoulder-streams that had not existed only a few hour earlier.

The winds also increased to what I would estimate to be between thirty and forty mph, causing the two mountain bikes that I had strapped to the back of my car to begin to have a mind of their own (and when bikes and car appear to be of different minds as to which direction they want to go, the driver has to make the final decision, and then cross her fingers in the hopes that her decision-making power is respected by her inanimate 'friends' :).

The long and winding gravel driveway up to the cabin already had small rivulets weaving its entire width and length as well.

After bringing all of my belongings (including the two water-drenched and wind-blown bikes) into the cabin, we all sat down to enjoy a warm and welcome chicken dinner, and catch up on each others' lives -- all the while accompanied by the soothing sound of a steady, heavy, pounding rain on the cabin roof.

Nancy and Connie, the two youngest of us, hit their pillows early and Judy and I stayed up, intending to watch 'Open Range' (there is a television in the cabin, but no reception -- only for video watching). About halfway through the movie, the wind and rain picked up even more and the television went black. And we were without electricity, or running water, for the remainder of the weekend ... which simply served to make our stay much more memorable. The cabin had a supply of oil lamps, but no lamp oil, no working flashlights, but an ample supply of candles.

The time spent in the cabin each night consisted of reminiscing about our Dad (who passed away three years ago next month -- who, by our consensus, was the most honest, decent, courageous, character-laden person we will ever know -- and whose physical energy, and knowledge of construction, twenty-four years ago helped build the cabin in which we now sat). We also spent hours playing cut-throat (by sisterly definition) cards -- 500 rummy and blackout -- by candlelight, re-living both good and bad memories of the past four or five decades, and verifying each others' opinions about the vileness of the American left, the weakness of much of the so-called American 'right', and the threats that both pose to us all. And thanking God that there was dry wood in the cabin with which to keep the fire going in the trusty Fisher wood stove (it dipped down into the mid-thirties at night. And with wind chill ... we won't even go there, since we're all in agreement that 'wind chill factors' are an invention of modern man, designed to prove the falsehood that we are as hardy as our forebears were. :)

It rained, heavily and non-stop, through the night on Friday and well into Saturday afternoon.

During the day, we took the dogs on long hikes down the road and visited with the old farm lady who has lived on the nearby farm since Jesus was in diapers. She's eighty-four years old and completely self-sufficient. We spent a good couple of hours in her kitchen with her, listening to her stories of life in America in the early part of the century. Each time she would share a particularly 'homespun' story with us, I would good-naturedly assure her that I intend to include it in a book I may someday write about her, and she would laugh and pat me on the knee and assure me that such a book would be a good dust gatherer on the shelves of any self-respecting Barnes and Noble.

Typical of one of her many sweet stories:

My Aunt Sarah got so old that she had trouble cutting her own toenails. So she would pay me a nickel to cut them for her. It was hard work, because those toenails were thick and brittle, and I didn't want to cut them wrong and cause her pain. But it was worth it, because I loved taking my nickel into the dry goods store and standing there in front of the rows of apothecary jars filled with penny candy. It was always so hard choosing what color and flavor to bring home with me -- but it was the pleasantest of choices, too. I sometimes got to wishing that Aunt Sarah's nails would grow much faster.

We got into the jeep and drove to Hancock, NY -- the nearest form of real 'civilization' -- on Saturday afternoon. We traveled down several dirt (and paved) roads that were barricaded as 'closed to traffic' due to the flooding ... by driving around the barricades. Whenever we would come to a portion of the closed road that was flooded, we would send sister Connie out, barefooted and pants rolled above her knees, to determine the maximum depth of the water. Our consensus was that, if the water didn't reach too far above her knees, the Jeep could make it through. (Connie was elected to be our depth-scout simply because she was recently married and has no children yet, so her demise, should the water sweep her away, would conceivably have somewhat less impact than that of the rest of us -- who all have children and husbands of longstanding. :)

(Actually none of the water was rushing strongly enough to pose a real threat, but Connie will no doubt remember it otherwise, if only for the sake of drama and personal heroism :).

Arriving in Hancock, NY (having taken a very circuitous route), we went into one of the local saloons, sat at the bar (soft drinks/spring water in hand :) and talked with a handful locals who had managed to congregate there. The handful of men at the bar, and at the pool table, were like little children who were caught in the middle of an exciting real-life video game – wide-eyed, and describing with great gusto and animation, what they had heard on the radio or from their neighbors, about the potential for cresting far above flood stage of the nearby Susquehanna and Delaware Rivers, tales of neighbors whose basements were flooded and whose first floors were knee-deep in water, evacuations to school facilities of portions of nearby towns, the concern that a dam upriver from Hancock might not hold, comparisons to the flood of '72, etc. If it weren't for the fact that every fifth word out of some of their mouths consisted of four letters and began with f, I would have thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of the conversations. (I would have reminded them that there were ladies present, but for the fact that I think that would have dampened their enthusiasm. And their boyish eagerness was somehow strangely endearing. :)

We then drove out to a two-room schoolhouse that Florence (the old farm lady) had told us she attended back in the early twenties -- a small, white clapboard building that now serves only as a polling place, and that is still furnished with its original little wooden/swirled iron/inkwell school desks. Peering through the large-paned windows into the classroom/cloakroom areas caused a warm longing to return to those simple, honest days (of which we were not a part, but we somehow understand and revere). We sat on the front porch of that simple, humble, monument to past educational simplicity (yet excellence, no doubt) for quite a while, envisioning what it must have been like to be a part of that strong, proud, uniquely American era.

On the way to and from the school house, we passed through many areas hard-hit by the flooding. One macadam side road was completely detached from the macadam main road by a twenty-foot wide, ten-foot deep chasm with a torrent of rushing water at the bottom. It would have been impossible to get from the main road to the crossroad without making a very wide circuitous path around the chasm -- by foot.

One campground that we passed was particularly hard it. Many very large RVs were on their sides and half-submerged in the swollen river, and several smaller ones were being literally carried downstream, finding themselves (no doubt temporarily) snared on submerged trees or a bend in the riverbank.

We drove over several decades-old iron bridges across whose spanned rivers one can generally wade. Fly fisherman can normally be seen in their hip boots beneath the bridge. On Saturday the river waters were rushing whitewater-style to within a few feet of the bottom span of the bridge. I would roughly estimate that in some especially hard hit areas where wading would normally be possible, the river depth might have been a good ten to fifteen feet. And all kinds of storm debris was being swept forcefully downstream -- large garbage cans, huge trees, hundreds of large tree branches, picnic tables, etc.

The batteries in my digital camera were dead, but my sisters took regular photos that I am eager to see.

We also stopped at a very old cemetery that Nancy occasionally visits when she is in the area. Many of the headstones are markers for young children, or Civil War casualties. A very large number of them also bore the names of casualties, both young and old, that seemed to occur in a cluster in late 1872 and early 1873. (I need to do some research on that period -- a local cholera, typhoid, or smallpox epidemic?) The half hour or so that we explored that hallowed ground was sadly fascinating.

Uncharacteristically, we saw very little wildlife this weekend -- with the exception of two enormous wild turkeys who crossed the road in front of me as I began my drive home (and whose appearance served to remind me again that I might well have voted with Ben Franklin when he proposed making the wild turkey our national bird). Lots of grazing horses and dairy cows, though -- to whom long, heavy rainstorms appear to be but a minor annoyance, if noticed at all.

Back at the cabin, we took the small cooler that I had brought up with me down to the shoulder of the dirt road at the base of the cabin's driveway (the shoulder was now a rushing river) and periodically filled it with water – carrying it back up to the cabin to pour into the toilet tank so that we could flush the toilet (we had no water at all – drinking or otherwise -- because the pump that pumps the water from the well is, of course, electric). At night, we filled the tank by candlelight – one sister holding a candle over the tank, one holding a candle over the cooler, and one scooping and pouring the water. During one of these treks we thought we had managed to capture a tadpole in our cooler water, and took great pains to avoid scooping him up with the rest of the tank-destined water (despite what seemed to be his determined and untiring efforts to swim into the scooping bowl), until we had scooped enough water out to lower the candle deep enough into the cooler and discover that the tadpole was simply a tadpole-shaped leaf. We then took turns laughingly blaming each other for the previous ten minutes of stupidity (you had to be there, I guess :). We also boiled the side-of-the-road water (on a propane stove) to do dishes, etc.

Late on Saturday night, when the storm finally broke, we took my bicycle lights and walked down to the dirt road with the two dogs. We stood in the middle of the road, turned the lights off, and looked upward. I have never seen so many stars -- and now appreciatively comprehend the real, and almost spiritual, meaning of the phrase 'canopy of stars'. If you looked straight upward, you could see hundreds of large, bright stars -- and thousands of smaller twinkling ones. You could also see large wispy grey areas around certain groups of them (separate galaxies? I'm no astronomer). Nancy and Connie saw two very quick shooting stars as well during the time we stood there. Judy and I missed them, they happened so fast. In the blackness around us, it was completely silent – not even crickets -- except for the rushing water on either side of us. And we all stood there -- even the dogs, somehow uncharacteristically quiet and still -- contemplating the incomparable majesty of nature above us, and the awesome, determined power of nature all around us.

I had brought up a few Bush/Cheney yard signs for my sisters, and forgot to give them to them. So, on the trip home, when it was dark, while driving through one of the smaller towns, I quietly stopped the car by two different darkened houses and replaced their two Kerry/Edwards yard signs with Bush/Cheney ones (deposited the Kerry/Edwards signs in a Giant food store dumpster). The Bush/Cheney yard signs that I passed were visibly predominant on this trip, and the Kerry/Edwards signs were few and far between (and are now two fewer yet ... :)

Now that I'm back in (what we choose to call the more) 'civilized' world, with its modern conveniences, and its perpetual motion (going where?), I find myself enormously grateful to have been afforded the opportunity to experience a few days away from 'civilization', with three terrific gals who enjoyed the 'unexpected experiences' we encountered every bit as much as I. And, although I wish our Dad could have been there with us, on some level that we don't yet quite comprehend, I know that he was. :)

~ joanie

[snopercod]

Joanie--

Responding to this before I read your longer post:

If truth be told, this "mountain man" would be nothing without my "mountain woman". She was out there in the rain with me removing trees from our road.

Our permanent power just came back on after almost 4 days. I spoke with the utility workers and thanked them profusely for coming out. They told me that many people had been chewing their hindquarters for taking so long.

Liberals who think that electricity comes from walls, no doubt...

Also: Love your tagline.

[snopercod]

Joanie--

I've been sitting here smiling and laughing-out-loud at your wonderful story. You really have a knack for story-telling(which would be meaningless, of course, without your insightful way of thinking.) It's a true honor that you have shared this wonderful story with us.

What a great thing that you get together with your sisters (and dogs) like this. I can tell that you (being a "pioneer woman" at heart) didn't mind what many would have called a "terrible ordeal". Did your sisters adapt as well as you?

...the soothing sound of a steady, heavy, pounding rain on the cabin roof.

I love that, too. For me, it's an affirmation that mankind can build shelters to withstand the forces of nature. It's really special that you and your sisters took a moment to remember your Dad who built that cabin soundly and with love.

I do have to admit that during this last big wind, I was wondering about the house my wife and I built...

You really have the "pioneer" attitude. You're a survivor. Some women would throw a screaming hissy-fit without TV, electricity, and running water. (OMG! I broke a nail!) You took it all in stride and thought it was "memorable". LOL! That's so great!

My grandfather, Robert Lee (mentioned in the post above) would have said "It's raining like a cow peeing on a flat rock!"

Your stories about "the old farm lady" (Florence?) reminded me of the "Goat Lady" in Cold Mountain. Did she you?

We traveled down several dirt (and paved) roads that were barricaded as 'closed to traffic' due to the flooding ... by driving around the barricades.

How dare you think for yourself! </sarcasm> LOL! I just hope that sister Connie never reads that she was "expendable". Somehow, I think you might have been the instigator here ;-)

Shame on you for not bringing extra batteries for your camera. 5 demerits for that (which are forgiven for figuring out how to flush the toilet without well water).

...we all stood there -- even the dogs, somehow uncharacteristically quiet and still -- contemplating the incomparable majesty of nature above us, and the awesome, determined power of nature all around us.

Moments like that are what make life worthwhile. You and your sisters will always remember that moment, I think.

Bless you for "correcting" the yard signs you found along the way. A nice Kilroy Was Here on each sign would have been nice.

I am sure that your Dad is very proud of you and your sisters.